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Description
Name: "NotDaSizeofDaBoat"
Barn Name: Sailor
Breed:Thoroughbred
Gender: Colt
Age: 5
Colour: Chestnut
Genotype: ee/aa
Markings: snip on left side of nose, sock FR, stocking HR
Sire: ThatsWhatSheSaid
Dam: Starter
Breeder: Mana Farms

-Age______Starts____1st____2nd____3rd____Earned
-5 ________2_______1(1)____0______0_____$1,080,000

Won at 5: Breeders' Cup Sprint (G1) 6f

Who can sail without the wind,
Who can row without an oar,
Who can leave a friend,
without shedding a tear?

I can sail without the wind,
I can row without an oar,
But I can't leave a friend,
without shedding a tear.
[link] (here you can hear it)
/Swedish song

He was down… My God he was down! It was so surreal to Svea as she raced blindly out onto the track. All she could see was Sailor, his chestnut form lying still as death on the dark turf. She barely even noticed Jace - Sailors jockey - numbly climbing to his feet, clutching at his head. Sailor had been valiant to the last; likely the only reason Jace still could get to his feet at all.

It had been the race of a lifetime. Sailor had spent much of the race in the back but in the last moments had spurred ahead in a momentous drive. Mud and sand were flung high as his legs churned out in a stupendous burst of speed. Svea’s heart had flown with him and had pounded in her chest in rhythm with his singing hooves. In him she was reminded of the great race horses of decades ago who had so captured the public’s imagination. Perhaps with Sailor they had come again. Sailors nostrils flared and his muscles bulged; his effort was amazing as he pulled past each horse in the field. Then it was only he and the leader. One stride, two he came abreast with the other dark colt. One more and it was his golden chestnut nose that showed in front. He was going to win! No one could catch him! Then something happened as they crossed the finish line. Sailor stumbled.

Svea still wasn’t sure if the dark colt’s feet tangled with Sailor or if it was just a hard spot in the track, but Sailor tripped, even as the camera flashed to record his win. Bravely he fought through several strides to keep his feet. What sort of courage did it take to do so when one was so sorely wounded? But his valor was unrewarded; he fell awkwardly to the track, twisting - loyal to the last - to avoid crushing his rider. His speed on impact was such that he slid several feet before coming to a bone jarring halt. He let out an agonized whinny – one that Svea did not hear, for her own scream rose into the air to mingle with Sailor’s voice – before lying still.

She fell down on her knees at his head. Vets and track workers were already there, trying to do what they could, but all she could focus on was Sailors head, dirty and mud stained, with his eyes tightly closed. He did not seem to breathe at all.

“Not again” she whispered, cradling his head “Not you too.”

There had been another chestnut, one as much loved as Sailor who had only a few years before come to a horrible end on the track. She had shown extraordinary courage as well, but broken necks are hardly something to recover from. She had fallen hard, as Sailor had and flipped, burying her rider beneath her… Gustav. She tried so hard not to think about him, she had left Sweden just to escape the memories, but as she stared down at Sailor she was suddenly in two places at once. Sailor was not only Sailor and she seemed to hear “I’ve always loved you” whispered in the shaky, infirm voice of a man close to death. It had been terrible. She couldn’t do this… Not again.

“It doesn’t look good.” Someone next to her said. “The foreleg is fractured at the least” said another and then came the terrible words from the vet, who had been studiously leaning over Sailors chest. “I don’t hear a heartbeat. He’s gone.”

A hush had fallen over the crowd, but Svea heard the words repeated in her head over and over. “He’s gone.” And they had twofold meaning as the past and present collided. Jace limped over – shoving through those attending his hurts – and placed an arm around her. “I’m sorry Svea, he saved me at the end there, you know.” She looked up in his eyes, a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face where his helmet had gouged his eyebrow, and nodded glumly.

Gloomily the track workers placed screens about her fallen companion, to provide what respect to the fallen they could. When she heard the rumble of the truck come to take him away, she turned and took up her phone in shaking hands. She just had to talk to somebody. A muffled voice answered on the other end, as if the call had been expected. “He’s down” she said, her voice squeaking with the effort of talking at all. “I know.” came the reply “I was watching it, saw it all…” whatever he had to say next was lost. There was a muffled grunt from someone behind the screens and a snort that was obviously equine in nature. Without moving the phone from her ear, she looked around the screen. A terrible hope was rising within her, but another little voice squashed it down, saying that hope was futile when there could be done. Then, like a lightning bolt striking from on high, just as her eyes fell on Sailors chestnut form, he came to life. His eyes flashed open and he neighed, lifting his head toward the sky. Chains had been hooked around his hind legs, to haul him in the truck and his tack removed. He flailed, trying to free himself from the unknown bindings and rise.

Svea gasped and the phone fell from numb fingers. With a wail of “Sailor!” she flung herself on him. Partly out of relief that he actually lived, but also because somewhere in her stunned mind she knew that he would only hurt worse himself if he continued to thrash. Her weight seemed to calm him, and after a few curious blows and sniffs he proceeded to lick her face, smothering her with slobber as was his customary greeting. Tears leaked down her face, but she didn’t push him away. Somehow with that one familiar gesture he was telling her that it was all going to be alright. The pall, as people realized what had happened, over the field lifted and first only a light and then with a great roar the track goers lifted their voices in a loud cheer. Sailor it said, Sailor….

Some had told her it was useless, that he should be put down, but Svea did not head their words. If he had the courage to meet death and come back fighting, well then she had courage enough to let him try. So they rigged up the trailer to receive him and she carried her Sailor home.

Text by: ~DreamArabians *glompsnuggles*
REF: (thank you!)
"Sailor" : *EquineStockImages [link]
"Svea" : *SenshiStock [link]

Description
Name: "NotDaSizeofDaBoat"
Barn Name: Sailor
Breed:Thoroughbred
Gender: Colt
Age: 5
Colour: Chestnut
Genotype: ee/aa
Markings: snip on left side of nose, sock FR, stocking HR
Sire: ThatsWhatSheSaid
Dam: Starter
Breeder: Mana Farms

-Age______Starts____1st____2nd____3rd____Earned
-5 ________2_______1(1)____0______0_____$1,080,000

Won at 5: Breeders' Cup Sprint (G1) 6f

Who can sail without the wind,
Who can row without an oar,
Who can leave a friend,
without shedding a tear?

I can sail without the wind,
I can row without an oar,
But I can't leave a friend,
without shedding a tear.
[link] (here you can hear it)
/Swedish song

He was down… My God he was down! It was so surreal to Svea as she raced blindly out onto the track. All she could see was Sailor, his chestnut form lying still as death on the dark turf. She barely even noticed Jace - Sailors jockey - numbly climbing to his feet, clutching at his head. Sailor had been valiant to the last; likely the only reason Jace still could get to his feet at all.

It had been the race of a lifetime. Sailor had spent much of the race in the back but in the last moments had spurred ahead in a momentous drive. Mud and sand were flung high as his legs churned out in a stupendous burst of speed. Svea’s heart had flown with him and had pounded in her chest in rhythm with his singing hooves. In him she was reminded of the great race horses of decades ago who had so captured the public’s imagination. Perhaps with Sailor they had come again. Sailors nostrils flared and his muscles bulged; his effort was amazing as he pulled past each horse in the field. Then it was only he and the leader. One stride, two he came abreast with the other dark colt. One more and it was his golden chestnut nose that showed in front. He was going to win! No one could catch him! Then something happened as they crossed the finish line. Sailor stumbled.

Svea still wasn’t sure if the dark colt’s feet tangled with Sailor or if it was just a hard spot in the track, but Sailor tripped, even as the camera flashed to record his win. Bravely he fought through several strides to keep his feet. What sort of courage did it take to do so when one was so sorely wounded? But his valor was unrewarded; he fell awkwardly to the track, twisting - loyal to the last - to avoid crushing his rider. His speed on impact was such that he slid several feet before coming to a bone jarring halt. He let out an agonized whinny – one that Svea did not hear, for her own scream rose into the air to mingle with Sailor’s voice – before lying still.

She fell down on her knees at his head. Vets and track workers were already there, trying to do what they could, but all she could focus on was Sailors head, dirty and mud stained, with his eyes tightly closed. He did not seem to breathe at all.

“Not again” she whispered, cradling his head “Not you too.”

There had been another chestnut, one as much loved as Sailor who had only a few years before come to a horrible end on the track. She had shown extraordinary courage as well, but broken necks are hardly something to recover from. She had fallen hard, as Sailor had and flipped, burying her rider beneath her… Gustav. She tried so hard not to think about him, she had left Sweden just to escape the memories, but as she stared down at Sailor she was suddenly in two places at once. Sailor was not only Sailor and she seemed to hear “I’ve always loved you” whispered in the shaky, infirm voice of a man close to death. It had been terrible. She couldn’t do this… Not again.

“It doesn’t look good.” Someone next to her said. “The foreleg is fractured at the least” said another and then came the terrible words from the vet, who had been studiously leaning over Sailors chest. “I don’t hear a heartbeat. He’s gone.”

A hush had fallen over the crowd, but Svea heard the words repeated in her head over and over. “He’s gone.” And they had twofold meaning as the past and present collided. Jace limped over – shoving through those attending his hurts – and placed an arm around her. “I’m sorry Svea, he saved me at the end there, you know.” She looked up in his eyes, a trickle of blood ran down the side of his face where his helmet had gouged his eyebrow, and nodded glumly.

Gloomily the track workers placed screens about her fallen companion, to provide what respect to the fallen they could. When she heard the rumble of the truck come to take him away, she turned and took up her phone in shaking hands. She just had to talk to somebody. A muffled voice answered on the other end, as if the call had been expected. “He’s down” she said, her voice squeaking with the effort of talking at all. “I know.” came the reply “I was watching it, saw it all…” whatever he had to say next was lost. There was a muffled grunt from someone behind the screens and a snort that was obviously equine in nature. Without moving the phone from her ear, she looked around the screen. A terrible hope was rising within her, but another little voice squashed it down, saying that hope was futile when there could be done. Then, like a lightning bolt striking from on high, just as her eyes fell on Sailors chestnut form, he came to life. His eyes flashed open and he neighed, lifting his head toward the sky. Chains had been hooked around his hind legs, to haul him in the truck and his tack removed. He flailed, trying to free himself from the unknown bindings and rise.

Svea gasped and the phone fell from numb fingers. With a wail of “Sailor!” she flung herself on him. Partly out of relief that he actually lived, but also because somewhere in her stunned mind she knew that he would only hurt worse himself if he continued to thrash. Her weight seemed to calm him, and after a few curious blows and sniffs he proceeded to lick her face, smothering her with slobber as was his customary greeting. Tears leaked down her face, but she didn’t push him away. Somehow with that one familiar gesture he was telling her that it was all going to be alright. The pall, as people realized what had happened, over the field lifted and first only a light and then with a great roar the track goers lifted their voices in a loud cheer. Sailor it said, Sailor….

Some had told her it was useless, that he should be put down, but Svea did not head their words. If he had the courage to meet death and come back fighting, well then she had courage enough to let him try. So they rigged up the trailer to receive him and she carried her Sailor home.

Text by: ~DreamArabians *glompsnuggles*
REF: (thank you!)
"Sailor" : *EquineStockImages [link]
"Svea" : *SenshiStock [link]